Down in Texas Read online

Which left her off balance. Uncertain how to proceed.

  With any other man, she wouldn’t have been strung this tight. But this was Brand.

  Although she’d known her share of handsome men, Brand had always been the one who set the standard. At times, especially when another man let her down, she wondered if she hadn’t built Brand up in her imagination until he’d reached mythic, unrealistic proportions.

  He’d become the hero of all her girlish fantasies, bigger than life, the cowboy riding in to save the day.

  When just a glimpse of his tall, muscular frame or the echo of his deep, rumbling voice could make her teeth grind against her aching need, she knew she had a problem.

  For a long time now, she’d thought maybe she could whittle him down to “human” if they could spend a little one-on-one time together. Just to get him out of her system once and for all.

  Today’s little disaster had provided her the unexpected means of achieving a long-held dream. If she played this right, she might finally have a chance of breaking past Brand’s steely code of honor that put “Mac’s kid sister” strictly off limits.

  Excitement shivered through her body. Satisfaction at how well things were progressing bolstered her confidence. She might already have succeeded in knocking a good-sized dent in his intentions if the flavor and the frequency of the muttered curses coming from the pantry were any indication.

  Lyssa had never used feminine wiles to get her way with men before, preferring a more direct tack. Today she was quickly discovering she possessed a whole bag of naughty tricks.

  When he’d halted the horse next to the porch, he’d dismounted and waited impatiently for her to follow. Instead she’d bitten her lip and given him a worried, helpless look, holding a hand over her chest as though afraid to pull the wound at the top of her breast.

  He’d paused, his gaze darkening with suspicion, but he’d reached up, his fingers warming every inch of flesh he gripped to help her down.

  Not quite finished, she’d swayed for a moment, not having to exaggerate her breathlessness as his large hands firmed around her sides to hold her steady.

  They’d stood so close her chest touched his, and her fingers dug deep into his bare shoulders.

  Brand’s nostrils flared, and his gaze narrowed on her face, dropping to her lips when she licked them deliberately.

  His mouth opened slightly. His chest lifted on an indrawn breath. A moment later he’d dropped his hands—as if she’d scorched his fingers—and stepped back. “Can you walk?” he gritted out, his glance rising stoically above her shoulder.

  “Of course,” she replied, turning on her heels to hide a grin. She felt the burn of his hot glare on her backside all the way to the kitchen. Naturally she’d exaggerated the sway of her hips, wagging her ass just enough so he wouldn’t know she did it on purpose.

  She was really getting the hang of this damsel-in-distress act. Sure, the scrapes she’d suffered burned like fire, but a deeper, slower-building heat settled in her core.

  Brand had to be feeling the lick of that same flame singeing his heels, or he wouldn’t be taking so long to find that damn first-aid kit. “You get lost in there?” she asked, raising her voice above his bad-tempered rumbling.

  “Found it!” he called back, his tone no different than when he’d been cussing.

  When he backed out of the pantry and turned, his face appeared etched in stone, lips drawn into a thin line. “You’re gonna have to lose the shirt, Lyssa,” Brand growled as he approached, a plastic box gripped tightly in one hand.

  Lyssa sucked in a sharp breath, a little shocked at how bluntly he’d said it and a whole lot excited by the tension flexing the sides of his square jaw.

  “Sure.” She reached for the buttons, looking down to hide the delight that had to be dancing in her eyes.

  He bit out a soft curse and stomped toward the mudroom. He was back a moment later with a towel crumpled in his hands. “Use this to cover up,” he said, holding it out to her.

  Lyssa glanced up, her fingers pausing on the third button down. She wouldn’t have minded him watching her strip, but then she remembered the bra. “You gonna turn around?” she asked, snatching the towel from him.

  “Yeah, sure,” he mumbled and turned his back.

  A smile tugged her lips at how rattled he looked. His shoulders were rigid, his hands balled into fists.

  Her smile slipped when she shrugged out of her shirt and pulled at the dried blood sticking the shirt to her shoulder. She stifled a gasp, yanked to free the material, and felt a fresh trickle of blood run down her back.

  She quickly eased off the bra, hid it beneath her shirt and pushed both across the kitchen table. Then she picked up the towel and held it against her chest. After a deep, steadying breath, she whispered, “I’m ready.”

  “I’m not,” he muttered, slowly turning but keeping his gaze averted.

  “Too bad,” she drawled. “You could have just dumped me on my own porch and let one of the hands clean me up.”

  “Don’t think I’m not regretting it.”

  “What’s got you so bothered, Brand?” she asked innocently.

  He snorted and, still clutching the kit, knelt at her side. His fingers lifted a lock of red hair. For just a second, his thumb brushed the end of the lock back and forth, as though he was distracted by its texture, and then he slid the hair over the back of her opposite shoulder, his hand brushing the surface of her hot skin.

  She barely suppressed a delighted shiver at his touch.

  “That’s a nasty gash,” he said softly. “Your shots up to date?”

  “Afraid I’ll bite and give you something?” she quipped, amazed she could speak past the lump lodged at the back of her throat.

  A daub with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball forced air hissing between her teeth.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, his tone laconic. “Have to disinfect.”

  “You don’t sound sorry at all.”

  “True. It’s your own damn fault you’re in this predicament.”

  She aimed a hot glare his way, but his gaze was on her shoulder, his eyebrows drawn into a fierce frown as he gently patted the puncture.

  “That hurts,” she huffed.

  “I know. Has to burn like fire.” He leaned close, his glance rising to meet hers as she looked over her shoulder to see what he’d do next.

  His lips slowly puckered, and he blew a short, cooling gust over the wound, drying the alcohol. “That better?” he asked slowly, his expression saying nothing of what he really thought.

  She nodded quickly, her nipples prickling against the soft terry cloth.

  Before she could thank him, he’d pressed a bandage over the puncture.

  “The bleeding stopped. I don’t think you’ll need stitches. Can you handle the other?”

  The hopeful note in his voice made her lips twitch. Time to cut the cowards from the rest of the herd.

  With one hand holding the front of the towel against her chest, she used the other to hold her hair securely to the side. Lyssa wet her lips and dropped her voice. “Seems my hands are full at the moment.”

  His gaze fell to her mouth.

  Success. She pouted.

  His lips firmed, and his brown eyes narrowed. “This will take only a minute. Then I’m bundlin’ you into the truck and takin’ you home.”

  She wondered if he realized he’d repeated himself, making it seem like he was the one needing the reminder. He paused so long she knew he sought another option.

  Time for a challenge. She lifted her chin. “Well? You gonna do it?” she taunted him. “Or do you want me to wait for Danny? We always got along real good.”

  Brand shook his head, a small, tight smile curving his lips. “Never know when to quit, do you?”

  “Not when it comes to you.”

  Their gazes locked for a long, charged moment. Then, without bothering to reply, he reached for another cotton ball.

  Lyssa couldn’t take her gaze off his hands
as he tipped the alcohol to soak the fluffy cotton and then lifted it close to her chest.

  She straightened in her chair, her body tensing as he slid it over the angry scratch beaded with dried blood. Her lips pursed as she drew in a deep breath at the hot sting.

  He swabbed it carefully and then tossed away the cotton and leaned close. His lips were only an inch from the top of her breast.

  Lyssa squinted at the ceiling, knowing there was no way in hell he’d think this was an accident. But she couldn’t help herself. Didn’t even attempt to fight the wicked urge.

  She opened the fingers gripping the top of the towel and let it fall—just far enough for one pink nipple to peek above the white terry cloth.

  Brand froze. “You dropped something,” he said slowly.

  “Seems I did,” she whispered.

  His breath caught…and then gusted again, this time aimed at the nipple quickly beading into a ripening point.

  Her breasts were small; she knew it. Just as well he’d see for himself what she had to offer. As her breaths grew shallow, her chest quivered.

  Afraid to do anything that would break the spell holding his lips hovering just above her nipple, she waited.

  He stopped blowing, and his breath hitched. A sound rumbled from deep inside his chest—a strangled groan—and then his head dipped lower. His mouth opened.

  The seconds stretched unbearably as she watched him struggle with himself, his shoulders tightening, his hands lifting to grip the edges of her seat as though he didn’t trust himself not to grab her.

  At last his mouth closed around her straining nipple, his lips scooping up the tip. Another groan tore from his throat as his eyes squeezed shut. He clamped his lips around the nipple and tugged.

  A glorious sensation flooded Lyssa—the rhythmic pull of his mouth had its answer in the shallow undulations of her hips sliding on the smooth chair.

  Lyssa slowly lifted her hands, not wanting to spook him, and gently cupped the back of his head, spearing her fingers through his short hair. Her thighs eased open around his naked sides as he bent closer and slowly mouthed her breast.

  Her head fell back while heat pooled between her legs, her legs clasping and relaxing in time with the soft, short caresses of his lips and tongue.

  A shiver worked its way up his body, vibrating against her inner thighs.

  Moisture seeped from deep inside her. Her pussy began to pulse, readying her body for invasion.

  His tongue stroked the tip of her nipple, swirling on it, and then his teeth bit gently around it.

  Lyssa couldn’t hold back a moment longer and moaned softly, tightening her grip on his scalp.

  Suddenly Brand stiffened. His mouth opened and released her breast. His head sagged, his forehead resting for a moment on her shoulder. Jagged breaths shuddered through his torso. “I’m sorry. That should never have happened.”

  Lyssa bit back a howl of protest and instead gritted out, “Well, it did. And I’m not sorry.” Her hands loosened their grip on his short hair and slipped down to rest atop his shoulders.

  His head lifted but remained bowed. “But I am. You’re Mac’s sister.”

  Frustrated that he’d deny them both, she snapped, “I’m not a little girl. I’m not some damn virgin.”

  “But you’re not the kind of woman I fuck.” At last his gaze met hers, self-recrimination tightening his lips.

  “What kind is that?” she asked in an anguished whisper.

  His eyes darkened. “A woman who doesn’t expect more than a good time.”

  The bitter heat in his voice struck her, but she hid the wince. Instead she lifted her chin, giving him a steady look. “I don’t expect forever, Brand.”

  “You should.” He abruptly hauled himself up to his feet, turned his back, and strode toward the door. “Get your shirt on,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m takin’ you home.”

  Lyssa let out a frustrated breath, listening to his boots stomp through the house. She gazed down at herself—at the angry scratch at the top of her breast. At the nipple he’d teased into an exquisitely sensitive point.

  Mac had told her a long time ago he never expected Brand to marry. After Brand’s mother had run off with a younger man and left Brand’s father devastated, Brand had kept his liaisons strictly sexual.

  Lyssa thought she might want to try some of that. If Brand could make her wet with just a look—could make her nearly come with just his mouth on her breast—damn, what might happen if he let himself go?

  Seemed he only noticed her when she caused trouble. So trouble was what she’d stir up.

  She dressed slowly, her shoulder stiff, a dull ache pounding behind her eyes. Shuffling to the pickup, she met his gaze above the steering wheel. Something told her another helpless act would only make him mad.

  So she climbed inside, slammed the door with a grimace, and buckled up.

  Without a word, he started the engine and gunned the gas, making the pickup jerk forward. They spoke at the same time.

  “Look—” “Lyssa—”

  “You go ahead,” she said, her voice soft.

  “What I did…” he said, staring at the road ahead. “I apologize.”

  “You already said that. Two words I didn’t want to hear then, so don’t bother repeating them now.”

  His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “It was a mistake. A natural male reaction, but it won’t happen again. So don’t get any ideas.”

  Her anger began a slow boil. He dismissed her feelings completely as if his opinion on the matter was the only one that counted.

  “Don’t worry about it, Brand,” she said, keeping her tone casual. “I just have an itch to scratch. I’ll find someone else to sink my claws into.”

  After a long pause, his roughened voice ground out, “You already have someone in mind?”

  Because he expected all women to act like whores, she tossed back her hair, pushing aside any doubts about the crudeness of what she suggested. “I’m heading into Honkytonk tomorrow night. I figure the first unattached man who asks will do just fine.”

  Brand’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “You think that’s safe? Or smart?”

  She leveled her gaze on his rigid profile. “Safe and smart would have been me fucking you. But because you aren’t attracted, I guess I’ll just take my chances.”

  “Damnit, Lyssa. I never said I wasn’t attracted—”

  “But you aren’t interested.”

  “I’m not the man for you, Lyssa. But that doesn’t mean you should be chasin’ after any bastard wearin’ a hard-on.”

  Lyssa’s anger slowly began to dissipate. Brand was never anything but polite when talking to her. The thought of her trolling for another man must have bothered him a helluva lot. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re not wearin’ one, isn’t it? ’Cause I’m gonna do a whole lot more than chase.”

  The drive down the caliche-paved ranch road was finished in silence. From the corner of her eye, she watched his eyes narrow to fierce slits and his jaws grind tight.

  She knew he fought an internal battle, but what could he say and not look like a hypocrite? His mouth had suckled her nipple as if he were a desperate man.

  He’d been gentle and restrained, but every muscle in his shoulders and chest had flexed and bulged as he’d gripped her chair—like he had to hold on to something or risk losing it completely. With her.

  No way in hell would Brand let her make good on her threat. Not with the quiet rage that radiated throughout his body.

  He’d tell himself he had to stop her because of his promise to her brother, but Lyssa knew better. She might spend more time with her horse than any man, but she was still a woman—and she knew when a man was interested.

  Brand might know she was his for the taking, but he didn’t know how deep her feelings really went. Maybe she could convince him she really was only after the sex. That was a concept he could relate to.

  Lyssa didn’t want any old cowboy. If she l
et him know, the battle would be over before she’d even begun to wage her war for his brand of loving.

  3

  Brand strode stiffly through the roadhouse bar, doing his best to ignore the brash blare of music from the jukebox and the dancers circling the dark floor. If Lyssa held to her vow, this is where she’d be.

  Instead he edged close to his brother, who sat on a bar stool, a beer in one hand while he fingered the edge of a small piece of paper with the other hand. The paper was likely something he’d pulled from the cluttered bulletin board behind the bar.

  Leaning on the counter, Brand released a deep sigh. “What is it this time? A ranch in Wyoming need a hand?”

  Danny glanced up and gave him a crooked smile. “No, this one’s closer to home. A woman with horses.”

  “Are you talking about Wasp Creek Ranch a couple of counties over? I heard they were looking for wranglers.”

  Danny nodded and glanced back at the paper, his broad shoulders already tightening.

  And because Brand had so much on his mind—the usual frustrations with running his own ranch, keeping an eye on Lyssa, and trying to rein in the wildness inside his younger brother—he just shook his head.

  Could his life get any more complicated? Danny had never been satisfied with his inheritance, had always been eager to shake off the dust of the ranch and roam. Add Lyssa to the equation, and Brand had all the ingredients for a truly explosive cocktail. She wasn’t just one more complication—she was its molten center.

  Sure, he had a ranch to run with a brother who was itching to strike out on his own—and loneliness that crept like a ghost through his empty house, threatening to rise up and smother him at times—but he’d made a promise to his father to look after his brother. Similar to the one he’d made to Mac. The McDonoughs had been the only family he and Danny had known since their own family had cracked apart. Brand would never let his best friend down.

  But what was he to do with Lyssa? She possessed the stubbornness and temper to go along with her long, red hair. And for some unknown reason, she’d gotten it into her mind she wanted him.

  Didn’t she know he wasn’t good enough for someone like her?